


Fiasco at Wally's

by maaaaa



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maaaaa/pseuds/maaaaa
Relationships: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Fiasco at Wally's

Wally’s is a greasy spoon diner. Although…calling it a greasy spoon is generous praise for Wally’s and a bit of an insult to other greasy spoons.

But it does have a few things going for it.

One–The name. Wally’s owner and chief cook is a two-bit hoodlum by the name of Bogdan “Stinkfinger” Dazdraperma. Stinkfinger is a nickname from his youth. No one knows the how or why of it, and Bogdan’s not saying. But let’s face it, no one’s gonna eat at a place called Bogdan’s much less Stinkfinger’s, even if it is just a dive.

Two–The ambience; and we’re being facetious here. Wally’s looks like one of those railroad dining cars right out of the 40’s, only it didn’t survive a train wreck and was plucked from a salvage yard and deposited where it is by being dropped on the spot from above. The inside didn’t survive the wreck either.

Three –The location. As might be guessed by its owner’s real name, Wally’s is in the Little Russia district of Cascade; in one of its seedier parts. It’s tucked into the armpit of the area, on the corner of 92nd and Fillmore (named for a local shady lumber baron from the late 19th century, not the president from the same era). It’s a favorite late-night meeting spot for other two-bit hoodlums and riff-raff.

And it’s the place where the biggest illegal explosives deal in recent history is scheduled to take place shortly. We’re not talking your run of the mill bricks of C-4 and common chemical propellants either, but the good stuff that the big boys play with.

See, Stinkfinger is tired of being a two-bit hoodlum. He’s ready to move up or out. And since no one in the hoodlum world of Little Russia seems willing to let him move up, he’s decided to move out. And turning informant for the Cascade Major Crime unit is his ticket.

It’s 2:07 AM. Jim Ellison, lead detective on the bust, is hunkered down in the alley behind Wally’s waiting for the action to start. He’s been in position for a couple of hours. He fidgets a little now and then to keep his ass from falling asleep. Other MC teams are positioned strategically in the nearby area, covering every approach to the diner. A block and a half away, Simon Banks is overseeing the entire operation from inside a dark blue Cascade Public Utilities van. There’s orange traffic cones and just enough gear scattered around the perimeter to make it look like it belongs there, and workers will be back first thing in the morning. The van is outfitted with a wall of monitors and surveillance equipment. No one inside Wally’s is going to so much as sneeze or scratch without it being recorded for posterity.

It says something about the caliber of Wally’s that no one’s took notice of, much less commented on, the number of repairmen that have been in and out over the past two days. The place is wired to the gills and has more hidden cameras than Comrade Mikey’s Sex Emporium down the street.

It’s 2:10 AM. Most of the key players have arrived and are inside the diner. Some have ordered from Wally’s meager selection of Americanized Russian dishes or one of the even less appealing ‘real’ American food choices. The smarter ones skip the pretense altogether.

The word is the deal will go down in the storeroom off the kitchen, which opens out into the alley. The shipments arrived earlier inside crates labeled fresh produce. That in itself is a dead giveaway. Wally’s hasn’t used fresh anything on its menu since Stinkfinger cut a deal with a second cousin in the warehouse district who gets him what other restaurant buyers refuse.

It’s 2:13 AM. Jim’s earpiece crackles to life with simultaneous comments from the other teams of, “Shit”, “Holy Shit”, “Shit, shit, shit”, and “Tell me that’s not Sandburg”. It’s the last comment, in a disbelieving whisper from Joel, which gets Jim’s full attention.

It can’t be a coincidence that Sandburg is here, now. No way. Wally’s is not one of Sandburg’s haunts from this life or a past one, no matter the line of bull he tried foisting on Jim to get him to agree to letting him come along. Jim wishes now he’d given into his gut feeling to cuff Sandburg to the bed railing before leaving the loft.

Jim moves quickly and silently to the end of the alley and peers around the corner.

Sandburg is across the street, standing under the streetlight. He looks wobbly, as if he’s tipsy-drunk and unsure of his whereabouts. His lips are moving; he’s talking, so Jim zeroes in and starts listening.

“---you can hear me and you probably can see me by now too. I’m not getting any closer, man. Jack Kelso called. He got wind that Igor’s going to show up tonight, said you’d want to know, and you’d know what that means.”

Sandburg waits a minute or so, hiccupping and swaying for effect, and then speaks again.

“Jim. Don’t blow a gasket, okay? I know you can hear me and can see me too I bet. I’m so not getting any closer, man. Jack Kelso called. He got a tip someone named Igor’s going to show up tonight, said to get word to you, and you’d know why.”

Sandburg repeats the mantra a few more times between mock bouts of drunken queasiness. His hands are shoved deep in the pockets of the oversized coat he’s wearing. His shoulders are hunched up around his ears.

Jim swears under his breath. It’s mostly due to his feelings about Blair’s appearance more than the message even though he damn well sure knows who Igor is. He relays the information to all the teams, alerting them to the added culprit who may show. Igor has been in Major Crimes’ sites for a long time. Netting him in this bust will be a major coup.

Jim watches Sandburg, willing him to get off the street, out of the danger zone. It seems to work. Sandburg stumbles off, away from the diner into the shadows of a side street. He doesn’t go far and Jim swears again. He hopes it’s far enough. He listens for a few more minutes, hearing Blair’s shaky breaths and rapid heartbeat. He returns to his post near the back door of Wally’s.

It’s 2:23 AM. Kelso’s tip is a good one. Igor arrives. This seems to surprise almost everyone in the diner, especially Stinkfinger, who’s falling all over himself to appear casual about it. Jim hopes he holds it together and waits for the explosives deal to go down before he does something stupid. Several other deals are tossed in on the spur of the moment, thanks to Igor’s arrival. There’s lots of backscratching in Little Russia tonight.

It’s 2:32 AM. The deal…deals, go down. At a signal from Jim all units move in. The bust goes off without a hitch. Jim spearheads the effort, breaking through the back door of Wally’s and nabbing Igor himself. There’s enough evidence and bad guys scrambling to sell each other out to keep prosecutors busy for months.

Incredibly, Sandburg isn’t in the thick of it.

Tonight at Wally’s it’s a total fiasco for crime in Little Russia.

It’s 3:03 AM. The last of the hoodlums are carted off. The PD forensics and evidence units move in. They still have a long night ahead of them. Stinkfinger is hustled away to a safe house. It’s a good bet he’ll go into witness protection. Maybe he’ll finally be able to shake the nickname.

It’s 4:20 AM. Blair is finishing up his statement. He wasn’t technically at the scene, but he and Jim are doing their dog and pony show to explain his presence nearby and the tip about Igor.

Simon’s seen the show before, so he cuts it short. He’s wired and tired. All three men know proper procedure is to call the tip in to the precinct and let them relay it via the proper channels. No one is surprised when he rips Sandburg a new one.

Several smart assed remarks spring into Sandburg’s head. He swallows them all and goes for contrite shoulder shrugging instead.

Simon’s too wrung out to keep it up. Jim’s too quiet. Blair knows Jim’ll ream him out too when they get back to the loft. Simon barks at them both one last time and shoos them out with a curt wave of his hand.

It’s 4:43 AM. Jim and Blair are in the truck, heading home. Blair’s stomach rumbles first, just before Jim’s. Blair jokes that they should swing by Wally’s for take-out. Jim is not amused. They grab juice and breakfast biscuits at a drive through instead and eat in silence.

It’s 5:20 AM. Jim and Blair are in bed, curled up together. They’re both twitchy. It’s difficult to unwind even after the frantic making out they’d assumed would take the edge off after Jim’s lecture. Jim finally whispers, “It could’ve been a fiasco tonight, with you showing up at the diner.” Blair just nods and plasters himself closer to Jim. They both know why Blair was there. Jim whispers again, “I’ll paddle you later.” It’s a promise, said without heat. It’s what Blair needs to hear.

It’s 5:22 AM. Jim and Blair are asleep.


End file.
